


Infection

by Reavv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Embarrassment, Fuck Or Die, Light Bondage, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Red Lyrium, Sounding, Voyeurism, or something along those lines, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavv/pseuds/Reavv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme: </p><p>Samson is dying from Red Lyrium addiction. It's too bad the cure just might be more unpleasant than anticipated. </p><p>Cullen discovers new things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setting the scene

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving here because livejournals horrible commenting system means I'm loosing chapters randomly. Currently a WIP. Not sure when I'm actually getting to the porn. Deals with some pretty sketchy power dynamics and consent issues, Samson agrees to the procedure but only because the other option is dying slowly. Cullen is not as sympathetic to this as he could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me, coloured and turned into a tarot card by the lovely cucumberprince.tumblr.com

* * *

In the end, it’s the Inquisitor that corners him. He is in the undercroft, because the only places he is allowed unsupervised is under the tender mercies of the Commander and his unending questions, or the even more invasive poking of the dwarven enchanter. The Inquisitor descends from the throne room with all the deadliness of the heretic rogue she is. The small form of the elven woman shouldn’t be as intimidating as he suddenly feels it is, as she backs him up against a work bench. Dagna is the only one there to witness his scurrying, the blacksmith long gone, and she looks on curiously with the blasted vial held delicately between her hands. Samson has the sudden desire to see her fumble it, break the glass on the uneven floor and be done with the matter entirely. 

Unfortunately, no such fumbling happens, and his attention is brought back when a throat clears just to his left. He straightens from his slouch in an attempt regain some semblance of dignity, but the action only serves to pulls on a deep ache inside his chest and he ends up grimacing down at the woman instead. Her eyes grow sharp and her mouth quirks up in either amusement or scorn. 

“According to Dagna’s research, this is probably your only option if you want to live to see the end of this. Considering the amount of effort and resources we had to spend to deal with you in the first place, that seems like a waste.” Her eyes get even colder. Her hands box him even further into the table until he’s forced to step back, and she stares right into his eyes as her lips pull back around a snarl. 

“Make. Your. Choice.” 

He swallows wetly. The withdrawal from red lyrium has had many consequences, but he thinks having to spend even one more minute with the crazy elf who hold’s his life in her hands is the worst one. He thinks it would be better if she just forced him one way or another, not this false image of choice. His hands shake in anger. For a second he seriously thinks about picking up one of the tools scattered around and trying to bash her head in to end the charade once and for all. 

“It’s not so bad!” The sudden voice of the dwarf startles him enough that he bumps a few said tools off the table. Another stab in his gut reminds him that he shouldn’t be moving so much if he still wants to be able to walk back to his cell at the end of the day. 

“I mean, it’s hardly dangerous at all, and the knowledge that can be gained if it works could help us understand lyrium a whole bunch more. I suppose you aren’t as concerned about that, but it would certainly be interesting!” Dagna says. She’s put down the vial and has instead wandered closer to examine the Inquisitor and him. A snarl of his own breaks free as he take in her cheerful face. 

“You are all mad. You are crazy to think I would agree to such a thing. Dwarves!” A look towards the Inquisitor “Elves!” .

A strange look crosses the elven woman’s face. She shares a look over his shoulder with her much shorter compatriot, before turning her head back towards him slowly. 

There is a peculiar look in her eyes as she takes him in once more. He has a feeling she is noting every tremor, the unnatural sheen to his skin and eyes, the way he can’t help but hunch over an impossible ache in his skin. Her mouth widens into a slash of a smile. 

“If I can’t convince you, perhaps Cullen might-“ He doesn’t let her finish before he wrenches himself away finally from the table and her leer. The rage that threatens to overwhelm him overcomes his nervousness. She lets him go. 

“The dear Commander would dance upon my grave and you know it.” He doesn’t get to the door before her voice catches him once again off guard. 

“You never know, he might die first from sheer embarrassment when he learns what the cure is, he has after all been asking about a version for regular old lyrium addiction.”

The words have him gritting his teeth and walking even faster out of the undercroft. The sound of laughter follows him.

* * *

This wouldn’t be an issue if he were still on red lyrium. It’s the withdrawal and not the lyrium itself that is killing him, as his body desperately tries to replace the absent mineral with whatever traces still linger. Like an infection it has culminated in pockets of crystal-like deposits in his tissue, mainly around his chest and stomach. It is putting pressure on his heart and lungs and spreading fast into other organs. 

He is dying, painfully. 

The worst bit, the worst fucking bit, is that they found a cure. It just requires the most embarrassing mode of injection possible. 

His mind wanders back to the instrument the dwarf had first shown him, long and slender and nestled in with a vial of thick, almost translucent liquid. The concoction couldn’t be ingested orally, and it wouldn’t work without the help of a couple very tricky enchantments. The solution that was finally brought up required him to let them violate him in the most unnatural way, all under the guise of saving an Inquisition resource. 

Or as the Inquisitor had put it: “It needs to go in your bits. You know, your man bits”. 

Fucking mages, and fucking dwarves, fucking elves and motherfucking cowards like Cullen Rutherford. 

The only solace in it all is that the inquisition is being discrete about the whole affair. No doubt not wanting to tarnish their golden reputation anymore than having an elf leader and an inner circle comprising of mages, tevinter mages, qunari, dwarves and elves already has. 

He slams his fist against the rough cell walls, which only serves to heighten the tremors ransacking his arms and legs. He bares his teeth and seethes. This certainly wasn’t where he had imagined himself after taking up the banner of the red Templars.

* * *

The infection gets worse. 

He says yes. There’s not much else he can do really, and although he would accept death if it came, he knows the Inquisition wont give it to him honourably. It sits sour in his throat; the idea that he might wither away in these stonewalls while the very people he is surrounded with slaughter his men. It is spite maybe that keeps him from taking the easier route. That and that whatever pride he has left him with the destruction of his armour. 

The Commander comes to him the night before the “procedure”, eyes hard and body tense. Samson leans against the walls of his prison and eyes the man standing guardingly a few paces out of reach of the bars. As if Samson where a feral dog prone to biting anything that passed near. 

“Come to gloat?” He snarls, unable to stand firm under the silent stare of the other man. As it is, he can barely get up from his decrepit cot. 

Cullen’s face twist’s with contempt so strong, it might have come from Corypheus himself. 

“I would not need to gloat if you had not been so weak to betray the ideals you swore to uphold!” He yells. Samson scoffs. 

“Those ideals where naïve and foolish. What good has the Chantry every done us? Used for their gain and then forsaken when it suits them? You are a fool.” His knees shake. The symptoms are worse the angrier he gets, but he would rather be angry and weak then strong and complacent. 

“The Chantry was flawed but that did not mean you had to align yourself with a madman with delusions of godhood!” The grinding off teeth can be heard in the air between them as Samson pushes off of the wall to grip the bars in bloodless hands. 

“That madman was the only one stepping up to give us purpose. If he had not shown up, do you think any of us would be here? Your precious Inquisition would not exist of it weren’t for him, the mages and Templars would still be fighting while the Chantry watched!” 

“Divine Justinia-“

“Would have failed anyways” Samson honestly expects to be struck for that, but the Commander seems reluctant to come closer even now. Instead he brings a hand to his face and rubs at his temples. 

“I didn’t come down here to argue this.” He doesn’t move his hands from his face. In fact, as Samson watches he covers the bridge of his nose and keeps his eyes averted. Suddenly it becomes apparent why the Commander braved the bowels of Skyhold, going so far as to dismiss the guard that oversaw the prison. 

The corners of Samson’s mouth pull down. He withdraws towards the cot once again, fight exhausted and the situation once again pressing on his mind like the lyrium presses on his bones. It is hard to say who is more uncomfortable, him or the Commander. Spite rises up as he watches Cullen shift about. Cullen isn’t the one about to pioneer the field of perverse and dubious medical treatments. He waits for the Commander to say his piece, already anticipating a number of threats or warnings against misbehaving tomorrow. 

“I..I will be” A grimace “Accompanying you tomorrow. For the safety of all involved and to oversee that it doesn’t go…over the line” Cullen still won’t look at him. He sneers. 

“Didn’t trust one of your men to handle the sight of this-“ A hand gesture to encompassed Samson, the cell and the faint glow of red lyrium “-Debasement?” 

A growl. Cullen finally turns his eyes again to his prisoner. 

“I would not have someone else take on a duty such as this.” His words would be more convincing if he didn’t immediately turn his eyes once again away and leave the prison. 

Bile rises in the back of Samson’s throat, and he says nothing as the Commander walks away. What is one more humiliation among the heap of them that Samson is already bowed under?

* * *

They prepare a special area in the undercroft just for the occasion. Samson supposes that he should be grateful they didn’t decide to just do it in the infirmary with all the other ill and dying. As it is, he requires the help of his guards to even be able to make the walk. 

The Commander is there, talking with the elven Inquisitor who simply gives Samson an indiscernible look before clapping Cullen on the shoulder and brushing past him and his guard. One less person to stare at him as the dwarf currently fussing with her tools sticks him with foreign objects in the hope that the stuff that’s already infecting him will run away in freight. 

A raised cot, more table then bed, is bracketed on three sides by workbenches and tools. Cuffs line both sides of the cot; two on each side, and a larger leather trap is draped across the middle. A glyph on the floor completes the image.

It looks, rather alarmingly, like blood magic. There are no mages here though, and even his guard has been dismissed by the Commander as Samson stands there staring at the odd set up. 

Soon there are only three people in the undercroft to witness the events about to follow. A twice-disgraced Templar, an overly excited dwarven enchanter, and a man who looks like he is facing the gallows and not the shame of one of his enemies. 

“Well!” Says the dwarf “I guess we should start. Everything’s set up and all we need to do now is to strap you in.” A waving hand to indicate the cot and shackles. 

Samson grits his teeth but reluctantly steps forward. 

“I agreed did I not? What use are chains at this point in time?” To make the indignity complete probably, he thinks, as he very carefully does not look at the Commander standing awkwardly on guard. 

“Well sure, but this is going to be a very delicate procedure! I could end up doing some real damage if you move too much, even by accident. Besides, the tincture has some odd properties that could make it real hard to stay still” Dagna says, wiggly said tincture around in its vial. 

Samson pauses in shuffling forward. Suspicion raises its head.

“What…sort of properties?” He says slowly. He notices Cullen straightening his posture in the corner of his eye.

Dagna appears to be immune to the tension. She simply giggles a little as she gathers up some supplies. 

“Nothing bad, I hope! It just will feel really peculiar. Might even be pleasant! Now-“ She finishes with her fiddling, tugging a tray full of instruments and devices towards her on the work bench. “If you would please lay down I’ll have the Commander strap you in”

“Dagna-“ If Cullen’s shoulders get anymore tense, his stupid fur cape is going to start shedding like the dog he is, Samson thinks rather bitterly. 

“Well I certainly can’t reach around to do it myself!” Dagna wiggles her fingers and gestures to her, admittedly, short arm reach. She turns back to Samson and pauses. 

“Better get undressed too, this might stain”. 

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and prevents him from spewing the vitriol that burns the back of his throat. His hands shake as he unbuttons his Skyhold issued shirt. 

He shuffles forward until he can lean against the cot. The Commander comes around awkwardly, once again refusing to look in Samson’s direction and instead pretending to inspect the shackles, going so far as to test the strength of the connecting link. 

Samson’s hands hesitate above his pant ties. He needs to untie his boots first but he knows he won’t be able to bend down, not without a lot of pain. A throat clears next to him, and he sends a glare Cullen’s way. Who appears to be…Blushing. 

“I could- That is- It would be quicker-“ A frustrated noise. The Commander pushes off of the table and kneels down at Samsons feet. 

Samson startles violently down at the blond head, conflicted between wanting to kick said head into the dirt and simply basking in the sudden thrill that comes over him with the vision of Cullen at his heel. How it should have been, he can’t help but feel. 

“Finally found your place in life, Cullen? Kneeling in the dirt like the dog you are” His sneer would be more effective if his body wasn’t trying to flinch away from the Commanders heat. 

Cullen bares his teeth, hands going to his beaten up boots even as he stares balefully up at him. 

“Better a dog than a rat too weak to undress himself.” 

“Boys!” The voice of Dagna interrupts the angry seething of both men “Less talking and more undressing. I have other projects to get to you know.” 

A snort from the Commander, but it is the work of moments before Samson’s feet are bare and Cullen straightens from his crouch. 

A raised eyebrow takes in his still shaking hands, still hovering over his drawstrings. 

“Do you need help with that as well?” The curl of Cullen’s might have been amused, if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes are hard enough to break stone. Samson angrily shoves his pants down, having to wiggle awkwardly as his knees refuse to bend properly. Cullen immediately averts his eyes and returns to fiddling with the chains. 

Samson angrily heaves himself on the cot, ignoring the hand that takes hold of his ankle and locks the cuff around it. His other ankle soon joins it in imprisonment. 

He stares up at the ceiling and refuses to acknowledge Cullen as he comes around to do the same to his hands. The chest strap goes on last, and it requires the Commander to reach straight across Samson’s infected chest to tighten it. At the brush of Cullen’s arm against his sore skin Samson has to swallow a gasp. For a moment he expects his skin to react to the lyrium that runs through Cullen’s veins, before he remembers that the dear Commander has been lyrium free for months now. 

The image of Cullen is replaced by the cheerful face of Dagna, hands pulling on thick leather gloves. 

“I’m going to start with the enchantments for your chest. This might tingle a little” 

Samson grits his teeth and turns his head away from the image of the dwarf extracting liquid from the vial. He braces himself as much as he is able to as he listens to the shuffling of clothe in the Commander’s direction, and the smell of crushed elfroot and cinnamon lingers in his nose. 

The first clinical touch of the dwarf’s hand has him clenching his hands and teeth, the texture of smooth leather enough to send his nerves singing in pain. The infection has made his skin extremely sensitive, and in the cool air of the undercroft it feels like even the smallest of touches would send him in a downwards spiral of pain. 

Luckily, Dagna doesn’t linger, and instead confidently starts smoothing the thick liquid into the required pattern. Goosebumps raise Samson’s skin and hair, and his weak muscles start to shake. Just as the sensation starts to get especially unpleasant, it starts to fade. In its place a cooling, slightly tingling feeling spreads from where Dagna’s hands trace. The absence of pain is almost as jarring as the pain itself was. 

His skin heats for a different reason entirely.


	2. Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter this time, as we get into the porn bit im finding it hard to write for longer periods of time. Uncertain what tags need to be added. As this is currently un-betaed, I'd appreciate whatever spelling/grammar/sentence corrections you find.

The glyph starts right under the leather chest strap and extends to just under his hipbone. The sticky sweet smell only gets thicker the longer the mixture stays on his skin. His leg jerks as he tries to make himself more comfortable but the shackles prevent him from truly moving anything. A frustrated sound emerges from his throat as the sensation spreads, soothing his pain but leaving a trail of ice-cold fire in its wake. A cough brings his attention to the rigid form of the Commander in the corner. Samson stops squirming and glares at him instead. 

“There! That should do the trick,” Dagna says. The Dwarf is going so far as to hum. Samson switches his spiteful gaze towards her. “Now for the complicated bit!” 

In her gloved hands Dagna holds the glass rod, seemingly larger than he remembers, and the half full vial of tincture. The rod is set against his pelvis, just under the glyph, as Dagna sets the vial down near his hip. She drags the workbench closer and hops on a conveniently placed crate that brings her lever with the cot. Samson watches as she switches her gloves for a thinner pair, and grabs a few indecipherable objects off of her tray. She pats his thigh as if he a skittish horse, or maybe a misfiring weapon. 

“Done this before then?” He asks, eyes tracking her hands as she sets aside everything but a thin leather loop. She is still humming. 

“Oh sure! Not for this exact situating of course, but there are a few enchantments that work better as personal jewellery.” A lupine smile. “Not to mention some people find it a pleasing and rewarding experience!” The loop goes around his cock supposedly. Great. 

“I’m not sure I see what’s rewarding about-“ He grunts, as the loop glows for a second and then shrinks to fit snug just under his balls. “-This”. 

Once again he tries to move his legs, but the shackles hold true. His knees drift close but Dagna simply props one elbow on his right inner thigh and forces them splayed again. 

Another cough from his audience reminds him of Cullen’s presence, but he doesn’t think he can look away from Dagna’s methodical movements even if Samson wanted to send another glare in his direction. 

“Well, when done properly it can be a really intense experience! And that’s without the use of magicked potions. I’m told it’s rather like an orgasm in reverse.” The dwarf runs a hand appraisingly down his cock, eyes critical. Her lips pursed in thought before reaching for one of the smaller versions of the rod currently riding his abdominal muscles. He shivers at the touch and feels more like a tool or object than he has ever felt in Corypheus’s command. 

“I’m going to start you on a smaller size, we’ll need to use the enchanted one-“ A gesture towards his pelvis “-since the smaller ones don’t hold the magic so well.” She flashes a quick grin in Samson’s gritted vision before pulling his soft cock away from his body. 

“Can we not-“ A grunt as a gloved thumb swipes at his cockhead “Can we not just use the larger one then? I’d rather not have this take anymore time then it already is”. 

A throaty chuckle is his answer. Dagna simply pushes his knees farther apart and flashes another lupine smile in his direction. 

“Oh we could, if you wanted to never piss straight again. Much gentler this way.” She dips the smaller rod in the tincture, catching a stray drop with her thumb to once again rub at his cockhead. He grits his teeth. Every muscle in his body feels like it wants to tense up at once, but whatever it is in the potion currently smeared across his chest and cock must have some relaxing properties, because he can’t seem to actively tense any of them. 

Satisfied by whatever she sees in his flushed and trembling things, she releases one leg to steady his cock and presses the end of the rod onto the opening of it. Suddenly he can’t watch. He jerks his head away and pants heavily up at the ceiling. 

The rustling of cloth has him once again reminded of the Commander, and his eyes latch on to Cullen’s form almost instinctually. He expects to enter another staring contest with the other man, but instead Cullen appears entranced with the goings-on around Samson’s cock. Cullen’s eyes are wide, his mouth just slightly parted, his whole body is angled towards the table now. His hand is even no longer grasping his sword hilt. Indeed, it’s rubbing the corner of his mouth. As Samson watches an errant thumb is pushed past open lips to catch the teeth hidden inside. 

Oh maker no. 

Before he can do something, yell or taunt or tap into unknown magic and burn himself alive in shame, the teasing prodding of the rod turns into a full on assault. His eyes jump back down towards Dagna, who pays him no mind and simply angles her wrist so that the rod continues its languid descent. It enters him excruciatingly slowly, as his body tries to expel it and the dwarf refuses to let it. She isn’t so much pushing as she is letting gravity do the work for her, inching further and further in. 

He breathes sharply through his mouth, lungs in sudden desperate need of air. Jaw fused shut, heart racing like he still had strength to run, full on shivers wracking his body like tiny earthquakes. It feels like-It feels like-He doesn’t know what it feels like, only that suddenly his whole body is pinpointed in his cock. He can feel his heartbeat pulsing around the intrusion. What appeared a small annoyance at first glance, feels like someone shoved their thumb in and wiggled it around. He can feel a heat gather in his face, his chest, his groin. He grows hard. 

Dagna drags the rod an inch out, finding some sort of unseen angle, and his mouth clicks open on a high pitch whine. 

And then the potion kicks in. Cold shoots throw his cock and spreads outwards. It burns, it sooths, it teases, it abuses his nerves like a battering ram. He can’t keep his mouth shut, panting up once again at the familiar sight of the ceiling. 

Dagna removes the rod.

The rod comes back, wetter. 

More ice-fire. 

He shouts. His back tries to arch, his fingers bite into his palms. Suddenly the shackles make perfect sense, even with them he can’t keep still. 

Dagna makes a frustrated noise and presses down on one leg again with her elbow. She can only reach one of them from her position though, and it becomes rapidly apparent that even her considerable strength isn’t enough. Her head turns towards the corner and she snaps at the Commander stationed there. 

“Help me before he messes this up would you?” Samson can’t see Cullen’s reaction, eyes clutched painfully shut at the sensation rising up in his gut, but he can hear his startlement. 

“Help? What would you have me do?” Cullen’s voice seems to be just as rough as Samson’s feel. 

“Just hold him down. His hips if you would, don’t want to disturb the glyph.” Dagna’s hand presses harder on his one leg, other hand trying to delicately remove the rod. 

There’s a pause in Cullen’s direction before hesitant footsteps approach. 

Now there are two pairs of gloved hands on Samson’s body, as Cullen throws his weight into pining his hips down. Dagna finally frees the rod from Samson’s cock, and picks up the larger version that’s fallen onto the cot from all of his thrashing. She tisks. He opens his eyes.

Dagna sets the smaller rod aside and dips the larger, more intimidating one into what’s left of the vial. Samson has the sudden thought that he’s about to be punished for interrupting her work. Surely something so large won’t fit, considering how intense even the smallest one was? 

He makes a breathy whine, but still cant unstick his throat long enough to talk. A sharp exhale from his side echoes him at the action. Samson turns blurry eyes towards the figure pressing him down, turning him immobile and vulnerable. Cullen is bent over him like he is at an alter, face turned to watch Dagna work. A flush has crept itself across his nose and ears and down, disappearing into the nest of fur at his neck. Samson’s eye roam down as his body and breath calms. There, caressed in supple leather, Cullen’s cock is a hard outline that presses itself against the cold undercroft air. 

Perhaps noticing eyes on him, or hearing Samson’s quiet exhale of bewildered laughter, the Commander’s eyes rise to meet his. Samson sneers at him, black amusement plucking at his brain as the flush to Cullens face darkens and he quickly turns away. The hands holding him down tighten. It is too bad that those hands are needed to keep Samson in line, because no doubt Cullen would be turned away and covering his shame by now otherwise. 

What a pair they must make. 

“Are you ready for the real deal now?” Dagna’s voice cuts through the fog drifting around Samson’s head. His eyes focus back on her as she presses her thumb to his cockhead and coaxes a drop of precum from the tip. His cock is flushed and angry looking, the area around his opening red while the hole itself is slightly gaped open. The sight twists something around in his gut. His eyes drift shut again. 

“As much as I will ever be, I expect” He eventual says. Anticipation already singing through his veins. Despite everything it seems to be working, already the pain has lessened enough that he can breathe without a sharp pressure in his lungs. 

Dagna chuckles and brings the rod to where it starts sliding in. The stretch of it leaves him breathless, straddling the line between pain and the absence of it, between too much and not enough. 

“Breathe, you sad rat. Breathe” The reminder comes from an unexpected source, Samson’s eyes snap down towards Cullen’s in shock. It has the desired effect though, and Samson takes in sharp gasp of air as the next little bit of rod slips in. The hands at his hip clench, once, twice. He tracks the slow path of the Commander’s tongue as it swipes at his bottom lip. He locks eyes with Cullen’s as the potion sets about doing its work once more. He bares his teeth down at the man, thighs already starting to quake again. 

Dagna let’s the rod drag ever further down, down down until he makes another high whining sound at the way it touches him deep inside. It hits something inside of him that makes him want to curl up and shake apart. His balls pull up as much as they can, but there is nowhere for all the pressure to go. He just shakes and shakes and gasps wetly. 

Another throaty chuckle, and Dagna pulls at the rod, jostling it around and spreading wetness around. She pushes it in till there’s only a little bit of glass showing, and keeps it trapped there. She taps on the end of it with an idle finger. Samson tries to pull away, strains against restraints of leather and metal and warm hands. 

Dagna smiles a little to herself, a craftswoman’s pride in her show of teeth. She looks up and gives Cullen a raised eyebrow before turning her eyes towards Samson. She has to tap on the rod again to get his attention. 

“I’m going to turn the enchantments on now. Do you want a gag?” Nonchalant, cheerful still. Her smile widens in face of his bewilderment. 

“What-whatever for?” He asks, squirming some more. 

“The next bit can be a-“ a pause” -shock for some. We don’t want you to bite your tongue and die after all this hard-“ A quick squeeze of his cock “-work”. She winks. 

Cullen doesn’t seem quite as amused as the dwarf. 

“Oh shove off Dagna, the poor man doesn’t need anymore teasing. For my own peace of mind give him the gag and let’s be done with this.” He doesn’t wait for her to answer before he is pulling away and disappearing from Samson’s sight. The whisper of cloth near his head is his only warning before Cullen’s hands grasp at Samson’s face. An adventurous thumb digs into the corner of his mouth. Samson bares his teeth and tries to crane his neck to glare up at the Commander. 

“Not so incorruptible now, are you Commander?” 

Fingers dig into his jaw, but Cullen remains’ silent. One hand leaves Samson, but comes back into his field of view, holding the yellow rope that normally is tucked into Cullen’s belt. The thumb flirting with his mouth digs in hard, but Samson refuses entry. He tries to jerk his head away. 

A pat on his thigh has him looking down at Dagna’s cheerful face. She winks again at him and tugs at the rod still lodged in him. He jerks as much as he is able to and gasps. 

The rope goes in. 

Samson struggles against the coarse material, but it’s a matter of moments before Cullen has the rope tied tight. The sides of his mouth are stretched wide, and the rope is just thick enough that he can’t bite down. He doesn’t know where to put his tongue. 

He makes muffled noises of protest, to which Cullen obnoxiously pats him on the cheek. He then moves back towards his position besides Dagna and grips Samson’s hips once more. His hold seems harder now, as if whatever hesitance he harboured before has left him. He’s going to bruise, Samson thinks. He’s going to have a reminder of this night for days. Samson knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from poking and prodding them later on. 

“All right, let’s start then. I’m going to activate the enchantments; it’s going to create a feedback loop with the potion. It needs to be activated for a full turn of-“She shakes an hourglass in front of him “this here. If it stops at any point before this is done we will have to start over. And I’m going to be pretty annoyed if we have to start over.” Samson rather think’s the dwarf’s grin could be used as one of her precious tools. A bolt cutter maybe, or a chisel. She doesn’t wait for an answer; not that he could give her one anyways, and does something to the rod. It starts as more tapping on the end of it, a steady rhythm that has Samson’s fingers twitching. 

Then a soft blue glow starts pulsing from the glyph on the floor, followed by the one on his chest, moving downwards. Soon even Dagna’s hands are glowing. The glow seems to wake up the potion once more; the cold sensation from before picks up again. 

He clenches down on the rope in his mouth and grunts. 

That’s not the end of it though. At first he thinks its Dagna simply tapping on the end again, but a look down reveals she isn’t even touching the rod. She has one hand holding his cock in position and the other holding the hourglass. Then the sensation intensifies and becomes more of a buzzing. Horror finds a foothold in his mind as he slowly realises what’s going on. 

He tries jerking his knees close again, but Dagna simply puts the hourglass down on the cot and pushes his thigh back out. Her thumb runs back and forth along the skin there, but whatever kindness is in the act is eclipsed rather largely by the fact that the rod and it’s enchantment are picking up pace. Soon a dull humming noise can be heard, and Samson can feel the vibrations radiating out from his cock. 

Every pulse makes him feel like he’s on the cusp of climaxing, over and over until it feels like he’s riding the wave of a constant orgasm. 

White spots swarm his vision, and he has to close his eyes against the tide. A whine works itself past his throat, his teeth, the gag. His legs try to kick, Cullen’s hands the only thing stopping him from bucking upwards.

The buzzing seems to spread the cold even more. His body quivers. 

A sharp exhale has him looking blurrily downward. The blue of the enchantment castes a strange glow on Cullen’s face, a slight sheen to his skin. The evidence of lust in the Commander only grows as Samson watches; he sways forward as if chasing some invisible friction. Samson closes his eyes. 

The tide pulls him under once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already planing a sequel so don't worry, there will be more

The vibrations just get even more intense, until if feels like even his bones are rattling around inside him. It hurts in the best way possible. 

He can’t stop the whine that rises in time with the enchantment. Slowing when it slows, rising in pitch when it does. 

He wrenches his head to the side, back and forth, the only movement afforded to him. His heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

Wetness gathers in the corners of his eyes, involuntarily, even as he chokes back the accompanying sobs. The tears make a languid path down his face to soak into his already damp hair. The taste of copper in his mouth informs him that despite the gag he has bitten something after all. 

He loses time. 

It takes a while for him to realise that the buzzing has stopped, wrapped up as he is in the feeling. Even after the sensation eases, his body trembles in phantom vibrations. As he winds down it almost feels worse, the constant buzz able to hide his aches and pains more than the sudden absence of it. 

Somehow he is still hard. 

He gasps as the gag is removed, someone’s fingers tangling in his hair as he struggles to breath. A hand cradles the side of his face and brushes a stray tear away. He slowly opens his eyes. 

Cullen meets his eyes for only a moment before looking away, although his hands don’t stop their soft petting. Samson is too tired to care about Cullen’s hypocrisy, and instead closes his eyes and just breaths. He has to turn his head into the crook of Cullen’s arm to scratch at the itch around his eyes, and he argues to himself that Cullen won’t notice when he doesn’t turn away again. 

Suddenly the roaring heat of the Commander feels nice against the cold of the whole ordeal. His skin prickles. 

It takes a few minutes for his breathing to settle, for his limbs to stop shaking. Eventually though, he can’t hide in the folds of Cullen’s cape forever. Awareness returns; the soft movements of Dagna becoming recognisable, the sound of the waterfall, the smell of Cullen’s shirt; fire smoke and mud and clean sweat. His nose itches.

The hands on his face leave him, the shock of it opening his eyes. Cullen still wont look at him, hands nervously digging into his shirt like a blushing maiden. Samson can’t find the energy to taunt him about it. His eyes turn towards Dagna instead, watching her clean and put away her instruments. The rod is still lodged inside of him, but the ache is muted. He kicks his legs in protest anyways. 

A smile his way, distracted. 

“Don’t worry, it can come out soon. I just need to drain the lingering magic; dispel the glyph first. From what I can see so far it went well, no need to redo today! I’ll need to do an exam before you go though. First though…” Dagna start’s muttering to herself as she turns back towards her tray. 

She comes back to the cot with a clean rag, still muttering. Samson thinks he hears something about needing to write it all down, but is unsure. His brain is still rather sluggish. 

She runs the cloth against his chest, breaking the pattern set there and the lingering glow from the enchantment disperses. Something inside of Samson snaps along with it, and he breathes in what feels like the first full breath of air he has had in months. 

Magic dispelled, Dagna wanders off, already searching for paper and ink to document it all. 

With the absence of the dwarf, Cullen reappears. Samson whines again. All he really wants to do now is sleep, but it doesn’t appear he gets even that anytime soon. 

A hand trails up his thigh to hesitantly cup his still hard cock. 

Samson makes more vague protesting noises, but the hand only grows more confident. A pinch of the rod and another hand starts slowly inching it out. The drag is a long torturous affair, but he is too weak to react overly much to it. 

Finally the rod pops free, and in its place a strange emptiness. As if it had carved out a place in Samson that will now never be completely filled. 

Moisture beads at the tip of his cock as the rod is set aside, soothed away by Cullen’s thumb. That doesn’t appear to be the end of it though, as curious fingers then set about exploring. 

Samson had forgotten about the leather loop around his base, but is instantly reminded of it as a few fingers rub at the edge of it, playing with the edges as if to tug it off. The other hand wraps around his length and set’s a slow pace, rubbing the sore skin and rekindling Samson’s tired arousal. 

Too tired to try and stop them a few more stray tears escape. His voice is too hoarse to make a true whine, but he tries anyways. At this point he doesn’t even know if he could climax. 

Then a thumb digs into his head and he bites back a scream, oversensitive and starting to really feel it. More moisture spills across his skin and the roaming hands. Encouraged, they start to move faster, an emboldened thumb rubbing back and forth over his weeping slit. 

A shaking moan breaks free from his throat, be he refuses to open his eyes. Somehow the visual would be enough to break him he knows. 

The leather loop comes off with an enchanted slackening and the relief of it distracts long enough for him to miss the whisper of cloth that signals movement from his tormentor. He doesn’t miss the kiss on his thigh. 

His eyes snap open, and Cullen meets his stare defiantly. His mouth moves upwards, leaving small stinging bites and slow kisses. 

“W-What-“ He has to cough, his voice a stinging wreck. He clears his throat and tries again. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

No answer, Cullen just keeps a steady pace upwards. Samson starts to squirm again. 

Finally the Commander hesitates just before his cock, but it becomes obvious that that isn’t the end of it. A nervous lick of lips and sharp flaring of Cullen’s nose is the only warning Samson gets before that mouth descends. He whines pitifully at the first touch of wet warmth, but it doesn’t stop. He can’t break eye contact as Cullen slowly sinks down. 

It’s feels unreal, some sort of hazy sex dream from the combined might of magic and potion. But then a scrap of teeth has him clenching his jaw and reconsidering; Cullen would certainly not be this bad if it was a dream. An apologising suck has him unclenching his mouth, mostly so he can gasp. 

A slow pull upwards has that gasp lengthening to an outright moan, and more moisture escapes his tired cock. Cullen doesn’t seem to mind though, and simply covers the head to lick the precum away. The image of the Commander visually debating the taste has Samson breathing out a short laugh, and his body decides that’s all it can take. 

He splatters against Cullen’s lips and chin and can’t help but smile at his affronted look. 

Cullen wipes his mouth against the back oh his hand, and then makes a face at the mess it makes on his glove. 

“Oh good! You’re done.” The voice of Dagna startles them both, Cullen straitening so fast he trips on the floor and bumbs into the cot so hard it rattles. A blush rises to his face as he nonchalantly backs away and smooth’s his cape back down. Before he can run away completely though, Dagna tugs him back. 

“Nu-uh. Help me untie him first Mister I-Give-Blow-Jobs-To-Prisoners. Still too short to do it myself.” 

Cullen splutters and reddens even more. Samson huffs out a breath. Cullen turns a glare his way. 

He does stop to help Dagna undue the bindings though, hesitating after each limb is freed and lingering guiltily against the bruised abrasions there. Soon Samson is completely free. He stretches his cramped legs and arms, and then has to scrub at his face angrily. Sitting up proves to be too much though, and he flops about after his first attempt, eventually resigning himself to never moving his spine again. 

Cullen once again tries to leave, and is once again stopped by Dagna. 

“Nope. Look, my job is mostly done. You were supposed to be his keeper right? Well I’m not going to be the one dressing him and making sure he doesn’t die before he gets to his cell. Go on. Get him some water and – stuff – humans need” Dagna lets go of his arm and goes right back to inspecting the thing that might have one point been Samson. As if it would be inconceivable for Cullen to even think about disobeying. And maybe it is, because after an uncertain moment he moves over to the conveniently placed water jug. 

Dagna makes a few humming noises, but it isn’t until Cullen comes back to prop Samson up enough to swallow tentative gulps of water does she actually do anything. 

A few clinical sweeps of her hand over his chest, wrapping around the sides to listen to his lungs before sweeping up to take stock of his heart. 

Cullen wraps his arms around Samson’s chest when she is done, bringing the cup up once again to drink. Samson can only handle about half of it before he starts coughing. When Cullen draws back, it is only for Dagna to come forward and inspect Samson’s eyes. 

Samson blinks down at her, as she presses down at certain points on his neck and temples. Eventually she comes to some sort of conclusion that involves a lot of humming, pats him on the cheek and wanders away again. 

Samson makes an affronted noise at her retreating back and struggles to prop himself up without Cullen’s aid. At the weak flailing, the Commander draws back, probably out of fear of being hit by a swinging limb. 

Finally he is able to sit up without out aid, and awkwardly moves until his legs can swing over the edge of the cot and his feet can touch the cold stone floor. He blinks down at his hands in his lap, red circles around his wrist, and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. 

A hand on his shoulder startles him, but it is only Cullen, barren of water but awkwardly holding Samson’s discarded clothing. He reaches out to take the bundle but then doesn’t quite know how to proceed. A hand encircles his wrist and tugs his arm up, sliding it through a sleeve and reaching over to push the other arm through. 

The silence feels heavy, as heavy as the sleep weighing him down against protesting. 

Fingers button up the front, hesitating on the last few before tugging him upright and off the cot. He stumbles a little before getting his balance back, and is ushered into stepping into the pants and pulling them up slim hips. He’s pushed back down onto the cot, and blinks down at Cullen as he slips Samson’s old boots back on. 

He’s dizzy with deja-vu. 

He blinks back sleep, and when he opens his eyes again Cullen has already taken back up his position in the corner. 

Dagna returns. 

“Ok! Everything looks good. The crystallisation process seems to have slowed, and we should see a complete stop to it in a few days. The enchantments did their job at breaking up the current pockets so you should be able to breath and move better, but if you feel any sharp pain come tell me right away since they might have lodged into near by tissue before the magic could dissolve them completely. At this point the only thing is to be careful at what you ingest, even the hint of regular lyrium could set off a sympathetic reaction from your body. It’s very sensitive right now.” 

A sly look towards Cullen. 

“It’s a good thing there’s no reason for you to be in contact with lyrium anymore.” She says. 

Cullen coughs. 

Samson stares at her for a few seconds, before deciding that the importing thing is that it is over and whatever it is she is babbling about is inconsequential. 

“That’s it then?” He asks, hope already rising and settling like some sort of preening bird on his shoulders. 

“Nope.”  
Disbelief. 

“What?” Samson straightens anxiously out of his slouch.

Dagna giggles at the look on his face 

“We need to schedule at least three more sessions to eradicate the lingering crystal pockets and prevent future ones from popping up. Might want to add in some sensitivity training too, since as is your body is going to be really unbalanced.” 

Dread builds in Samson’s gut as he stares at her in incomprehension. 

Sensing perhaps that she wasn’t going to get anything out of Samson but disbelief and despair, Dagna instead turns to Cullen. 

“I’ll…notify you when I have the appropriate dosage created and enough time has past for his body has recovered.” She starts pulling some of the workbenches away, back to their usual spots. 

Cullen stares at her in twin bewilderment, obviously just as surprised that the whole ordeal would have to be repeated. 

“Right.” He finally says. Dagna raises an eyebrow his way and gestures over to the door. 

“That was an invitation for you two to leave now. I have stuff to do, and poor Samson looks like he’s going to fall asleep on my carving table, which can’t be comfortable at all” So not so much a cot after all, Samson thinks. Fitting it was a carving table, considering he feels like something has cut away at his insides. 

Dagna then goes on to ignore them both, preoccupied with setting up her space properly again. 

Cullen wrinkles his nose a little in frustration, but dutifully walks back over to Samson to tug him back up and away from the table. Samson dredges up enough vitriol for a weak snarl in his direction, but lets him drag him up the stairs and through the door. 

Mostly because he is to distracted to protest when he glances down and notices something rather strange. Although no longer hard it appears, there’s a peculiar shadow on Cullen’s crotch. Samson makes a disbelieving noise as a blush rising once again to the Commanders skin in face of his blatant staring. 

“Truly? Sucking cock makes you cum in your breaches like a little boy?” Samson laughs a little breathlessly at the absurdity of it all. An angry glare is his answer, as Cullen audibly grinds his teeth. 

It doesn’t take long before they are underground again, this time in the dungeon. Samson’s cell is currently the only one in use, and he knows there is talk of moving him to a locked bedroom in the servants quarters, but for now he is just happy to see an actual cot, and bars strong enough to keep out torturous dwarves and confusing ex-templars. 

He staggers into the cell and falls onto the mess of straw and clothe. It is mere moments before he falls asleep.

* * *

The morning when he wakes is bright, sun struggling to stream in what few avenues it has. Much later than he is used to waking, as the brightly burning fires seem to suggest. 

He is not quite sure what awoke him, but as he blinks away sleep he almost thinks he sees the silhouette of someone outside his cell bars. Someone with a large hat. He blinks again and the image is gone. Instead, he can just make out something much less likely.

He struggles out of tangled, threadbare sheets and stares rather incredulously at the front of his cell. Someone has left a small pile of apples next to a jug of what is probably water, a note speared to one of them with a dagger. It appears to be the strangest threat he has ever had the dubious honour of receiving. 

He drags his sheet with him as he stumbles over to inspect it. The note reads in two different hands, the first scribbled on top in what might as well have been pure charcoal, and the rest in practical ink. 

For you. He wanted to sooth away your edges and smudge the history,  
But fear keeps his apples in empty baskets. I thought it would help.

And a little below it. 

Samson,  
You have been excused of duties for the day. The guards have been notified to let you sleep as long as possible, and that you are free to wander the areas of Skyhold authorised to you. Don’t get in trouble. 

Cullen

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Balance Sundered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496910) by [Sakurafox666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurafox666/pseuds/Sakurafox666)




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